


The Masochism Tango

by kittykimora



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV), The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, BDSM, Biting, Blood, Bondage, Dark, Escort Service, F/F, F/M, French Kissing, Manhattan, Rope Bondage, Stockings, Threesome, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykimora/pseuds/kittykimora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She trades in sex and secrets. He trades stocks and bonds. She's the belle of New York and he's the wolf of Wall Street. When they meet it's a pleasure without conscience, a reckless worship of lust and desire. But all complex inclinations have a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BLACKEN MY EYE, SET FIRE TO MY TIE

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul  
-Pablo Neruda  
-ooo-  
-BLACKEN MY EYE, SET FIRE TO MY TIE-  
-ooo-

Life is too short, that's why you need a short cut for everything.  
"Take Broadway, its faster." She tells her driver then leans back into the cushy leather seat of the town car. They drive past an art gallery with cool white walls and a scattering of installations. She watches people move from painting to painting, circulating the sterile space and mindful of steel sculptures jutting from the wooden floor.  
She flinches when a bike messenger slaps the side of her door before pushing off into the belly of traffic. She's been away from New York for too long but it hasn't changed. Manhattan is still composed of stand-still traffic, the ineffectual hooting of yellow cabs and the hostile New York sidewalks.  
"….EBay stock dropped 4 percent after the company issued a…" a voice streams from the radio before she closes the glass pane between the drivers compartment and herself. She loves New York in spring though; everything dazzles from the asphalt stretching before them to the sunlight glinting off car hoods. She tips her head toward the sunroof and squints at the Trump Tower soaring above them. Wall Street captures the spirit of New York. It's so raw, vulgar and greedy that she can almost smell gluttony in its filthy, exhaust-pipe air. Her mobile phone vibrates in her fold-over clutch bag. Pulling the phone out, she scans the screen and her lips edge into a slight smile.  
"Monsieur Vanchure" she greets with an air of professionalism in case it's his wife who's dialed her number.  
"Carla, "he purrs into her ear trying to incite some excitement from her. Bonnie plays her part by offering him a few bashful giggles. His name is Thierry Vanchure. She met him at Flavio Briatore's party in Cannes last spring and he is an avid fan of pegging.  
"Ca va?"  
"Je suis bon, cherie"  
"I miss you, Jolie Bonnie"  
"I miss you too, darling" she sighs, examining her polished nails.  
"I'll be in town in two weeks and I'd love to see you"  
"That can be arranged" she promises and they talk about Paris for a while, they discuss the current shows on Broadway and he mentions something about seeing the Ginger Roger's musical when he's in town and she vows to see him.  
After the phone call, she peers out of the window yet again and reapplies her rouge. She glances at her vintage Breitling watch again; she'll make it in time she reckons. She's missed working in Manhattan, missed the ignoramus, power hungry bankers who make up Wall Street. She can't fault them though because as flawed as they are, they always made up the bulk of her business. Like now, her appointment at the Waldorf Astoria is with an oil trader, a referral from a client she met during her stay in London. Marcel told her that he was a friend of a friend who was in town on business and like most men who venture into strange cities, was looking for company.  
Most of her clients come from referrals; it's all about building a good client base so that she doesn't have to market herself anymore. She fingers the locket around her neck, tracing the chain along her collarbone to rub the pendant that hangs down her décolletage. She used to love the anonymity of the industry but now she has played so many roles that she has started to forget the identity of the real Bonnie. Clients buy into an idea when they buy her time and so she becomes whoever they need her to be. She was never sexually abused, never grew up in a foster home in fact some would say she had quite a pleasant upbringing. She was born and bred in Park Avenue, attended Chapin School before moving to London to spread her wings. She studied international law at Oxford and her father is a lawyer for the United Nations. She often laughs when her clients ask, why and simply replies, why the fuck not?  
When they finally arrive at the Waldorf, her driver comes around to open the door for her and she slips out of the vehicle, a light breeze picking up her curled hair.  
"Should I wait?" Harold asks, taking off his chauffer's hat. She doesn't hide what she does from her driver, nor does she discuss it but he knows that his standard waiting time is two hours when she sees clients.  
"Wait ten minutes, if I don't like him then you can go and have lunch or something"  
-ooo-  
She locates the elevators to her right; being quite familiar with the lay of the land. She waltzes past the gleaming dark-wood desks and ornate marble pillars, her stilettos clanking on the granite floor. When she finds his penthouse suite, she raps her knuckles on the door twice and then waits patiently for the client to open for her. The door swings open and she's caught in a pair of sensitive eyes, slicked back brown hair and a strong jaw. He's attractive, she thinks as her eyes take him in.  
"You must be Carla" his eyes sweep over her, careful not to linger on the inappropriate places. Bonnie thinks this is rather charming since they are both meeting for purposes of sweaty, passion filled sex.  
"In the flesh" she grins, leaning her weight against the doorframe.  
"Please, come in"  
"Konnichiwa" she smiles, regarding his blue kimono with curious eyes as she saunters inside the mammoth space. Her eyes flit over luxurious champagne drapes, thick oriental carpets and velvet wing chairs.  
"I was in Tokyo for some investment meeting. I find these rather comfortable, "he explains as he pulls at the stiff collar of his kimono, "I hope you don't mind"  
"Not at all, it makes my expedition far more enjoyable" she smiles, tracing a finger along the seams of his robe until her hand settles on its belt. Her green eyes stay fixed on his, observing the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. She can tell that he favors subtle seduction over direct manipulation.  
"I'm Elijah" he says with a quiet, unassuming nod of his head.  
"The pleasure's all mine" her hand rubs his forearm, the electric buzz of fabric and skin shooting sparks through her veins.  
"Well," he clears his throat, "make yourself at home" he gestures to the space and at no fixed point particularly. As Bonnie's eyes flicker from him to her surroundings, he coughs in the awkward silence.  
"We should probably settle the matter of your gift first" he says as if reading the situation and Bonnie nods, "If it's not too much of an imposition"  
"Not at all" he walks to the nearest drawer, pulls a gilded handle and slides the thing open. Plucking out a white envelope, he hands it to her with a reserved smile.  
"Thank you" she bites her bottom lip, then quickly adds, "I need the little girl's room"  
After he shows her a restroom close to the exit, Bonnie slips inside and presses her hips against the dark-wood cabinet weighing my face in the gilded mirror. She feels the weight of the envelope before opening it. Inside, in neat little rows is her fee for her companionship. She takes out the wad of cash and counts it, assembling it into neat piles of five hundred dollars. The notes equal to four stacks of five hundred dollar bills which totals to two thousand dollars for her two hour minimum fee.  
"May I offer you a drink?" Elijah asks behind the door.  
"Double bourbon" she opens a faucet to muffle the noise for she is about to do, "make that a triple"  
She takes out her small bag of cocaine, two credit cards then makes two skinny little lines. She leans over the basin; a neat hundred dollar bill rolled up in her hand and shoots a beautiful line. Titling her head back, she feels that glorious tickle down her throat. Cocaine surges through her body like a hurricane. Fuck those whores who say they don't drink when they're working, no self-loving escort would fuck a total stranger sober minded, she doesn't care how liberal you are. She polishes her nostrils with her manicured fingers, grins at her reflection and steps out to entertain Elijah.  
She scans the room, discreetly checking for any recording equipment before she stalks over to him. He's already seated in one of the massive wing chairs, a glass of alcohol in one hand. Unbuttoning her silk shirt, Bonnie lets it slide over her shoulders. His eyes follow it as if glides to the floor, rippling on the carpet like an undulating black tide. Next, she unzips her pencil skirt and gives him a full view of her ass as she bends over to slide the fabric down her legs. His eyes burn her back, glisten with anticipation as she begins to sway to the music in her head. She tosses her dark hair back and glances at him over her shoulder, a seductive smile playing across her lips. His eyes roam over the smooth lines of her back, past the undulating muscles to the suspenders snaking over her hips.  
Turning around, she plants both hands on her hips and asks him, "Do you like what you see?"  
"Hai, anata wa hijo ni yo utsukushidesu"  
"Arigato" she purrs and strolls over to him, one foot after the after like a cat stalking its prey.  
"Is this your first time?" she asks, raking a hand through his silky hair. She likes the feel of it around her fingers; it's like she's stroking a feline's fur.  
"No" he tells her, his gaze roving her breasts. She can tell that he's content, that he likes women playing with his hair and Bonnie reckons it stems with his mother and suckling at her breasts. It always stems from the mothers, all her client's diseases, all their passions and obsessions can be traced back to the mother.  
"Do you like it soft and slow" she flicks a tongue over her lower lip, "or hard and rough "She plants a spikey heel on his chest, pressing it against his clammy flesh. Elijah looks up at her with big watery eyes and she can tell that he's holding back. She straddles him, strong thighs helming him in as she cradles his face with her hands.  
"Elijah, "she breathes against his lips, intertwining her fingers in that hair that she's grown to like. He kisses her first, hands sliding down her back until they slither down to grip her lush buttocks. Bonnie moans into the kiss as her fingers tangling in his hair. Her kiss seems to breathe fire to him and Elijah bolts up and carries her to the big, sprawling bed. He wraps his arms around her much like a lover, he hisses against her neck but his eyes beg for something that even he cannot admit to himself.  
"You feel so fucking good" he groans, raising her knee and anchoring it on his hip. Bonnie moves against him, draping her rented arms around him until his silent, restrained release.  
-ooo-  
She drapes a terry cloth robe around her body, tightening the belt until it feels snug around her waist. Looking out the penthouse window at the rush of Manhattan, Bonnie takes a slow sip of her bourbon and feels the dying bursts of coke leaving her body. It never lasts, she thinks, it's not the same. She spots Elijah's reflection in the glass, notices the way his eyes sweep over her and smiles.  
"You're very beautiful" he says, walking over to her "Can I ask you a question?"  
"Go ahead"  
"Not to pry or anything but why are you doing this?" he arches an eyebrow and Bonnie can feel herself wilt a little bit. He had such promise, she thinks as Elijah quickly explains "You seem like a pleasant-"  
"…Descent girl with so much potential?" she gives him a throaty chuckle, her fingers gliding to her necklace again.  
"You must get sick of that question" he rubs a thumb along the rim of his glass and she chooses not to argue.  
"Why are you doing this?" She asks instead and grabs his hand to places it on swell of her breast. When his fingertips trace the swell of her puckered nipple, she knows that he's cured of his sanctimonious delusions-even if it lasts a mere fifteen minutes.  
-ooo-  
Kai wants to bash her head against the table until she bleeds into the starch white table. He'd like to see her blood spew over the table and color the monochrome tiles with it. This vulgar thought makes his skin tingle. Damon Salvatore says something about the aviation IPO being favorable in the green market and Kai imagines the client's wife bent over the table as he plunges into her. He wouldn't say that he finds her attractive because he can hardly see her beyond the confines of her hijab dress but the fact that he cannot objectify her in a proper manner infuriates him.  
She laughs behind her veil but her eyes seek him, always seek him while they're taunting him. He wants to hurt her; he knows this because ever since he was little he's had a deep desire to hurt things. Money and Wall Street have taught him that he can hurt things; he just needs to pay a shitload of money so they can be fixed. His grips his glass of water firmer in his hand as his eyes dart from Damon to their client. Silently, he checks his watch and makes a mental note to ask Isobel for an English Rose tonight, he wants to see the bruises on her skin. He wants to appreciate the art he sculpts with his whip on her alabaster flesh. His fiancé, Rebekah Mikaelson is English but she's as appealing as a wet rag.  
"Mr. Abbar, we're talking about solar powered airliners, I think we can safely say the mile high club has never looked this good" Kai lifts his glass, blue-grey eyes glinting at the client.  
No one can sell bullshit like him, no one. He closes all the time and he owns Wall Street, the Trader knows it and Wall Street Journal knows it. Kai Parker knows how to play the market and he has yet to meet anyone who can beat him.


	2. THE GASH YOU MADE WITH YOUR WHIP

THE GASH YOU MADE WITH YOUR WHIP-  
-oOo-  
Does the devil pray, Kai wonders. Does he crave redemption or does he relish in his debauchery.  
His thumb traces the edge of the embossed business card, its black with an intricate calligraphy for their tagline.  
"Fleur-de-li" he reads then quietly looks around his office. He can see the charging bronze bull from the arched window behind his desk. It's a corner office in an immaculate building; he even has his name on the door. He's come far for a boy from Oregon. He's come far for a boy who used to live off food stamps and his father's weekly wages from the mill. He doesn't miss Oregon, doesn't miss the smell of rotting timber and the smell of tobacco and whiskey wafting off his father at three am on a Friday night.  
He loves New York and most days he loves his life. And then there's Rebekah. Her family's loaded but he doubts that's the only reason he's with her. There was something between them once upon a time, some fire before he discovered that all she wanted was a white picket fence and a couple of babies. They're young, he thinks, barely in their mid-thirties and a kid is the last thing he wants. Picking up his cellphone, he dials the number on the business card. He's called it enough to know the digits off by heart but reading it off the card makes the novelty last a while longer.  
"Fleur-de-lis, whatever you desire "a female voice answers, a practiced drawl that streams over the line. She has a restrained Boston accent that has been skillfully trained to sound more cultured.  
"Lexi, I'd like to place an order" he tells her, swiveling around in his high back leather chair.  
"You mean you'd like to make an appointment" she corrects him patiently and Kai rolls his eyes,  
"Whatever" he sighs, biting his lower lip.  
"And your name sir?"  
"Really?" he arches an eyebrow, running a finger along his open laptop.  
"Any specifications for your starlet?" there isn't one air of sarcasm as she purrs the word starlet and Kai silently commends her for her professionalism.  
"I was thinking a Rita Hayworth"  
"She's not available this evening sir. Would you like to sample Shirley Temple, Josephine Baker or Joan Fontaine, perhaps?"  
He shakes his head when he hears the selection because his mouth is already watering at the prospect of leaving bruises on ashen white skin, the color of an Oregon winter. "I want a redhead or a blonde, milky skin, soft…" he says firmly before Lexi interrupts.  
"I believe our Veronica Lake is available"  
"Thank you, the Carlyle hotel and let's say six pm." He grins, assured of a magnificent evening.  
Damon taps a knuckle to his door as he ends the phone call and Kai wonders why Anna, his secretary had not alerted him about the visit.  
"Hey" Damon nods, his signature look of unruly raven hair and a bristled jaw looking out of place in an investment bank on a Tuesday morning.  
"Hey, any word on the IPO pitch?" Kai points to a chrome and leather sit in front of his massive desk.  
"Yeah, Mr. Abbar wants to sign"  
"Nothing but net!" Kai pounds the desk with his fist. He loves winning; it's the closest thing to a cocaine high or an impassioned orgasm.  
"We still on for tonight?" Damon enquires and Kai knits his eyebrows. He's already made plans tonight and he's not about to disappoint Veronica Lake or his faithful whip.  
"Tonight?"  
"Yeah, poker night. We're going over Stefan's plans for his bachelor party"  
"Ah shit, "he starts and Damon presses his lips together, "Rebekah has this dinner thing with her brother, Elijah"  
"Hey, no worriers. I would have cleaned you out anyway."  
-oOo-  
Bonnie likes to lie in most mornings. She likes the way the sun feels on her face as it filters into her bedroom. She doesn't have drapes on her bedroom windows; she doesn't see the need for them as her Soho loft is several feet off the ground. Emily, her sister calls her an exhibitionist and Bonnie always smiles because Em doesn't know how right she is. Even though her sister doesn't know what she does, Bonnie believes that she has had her suspicions but she sticks to calling Bonnie a party girl. They are relatively close, considering the fact that they have different mothers. Abby, Bonnie's mother died when she was little and Rudy Hopkins remarried. That's how her half-sister came to be. Slowly, she cracks her eyes open and kicks the cotton sheets to her feet until they lie rumpled at the foot of the bed. The shrill peal of her cellphone jerks her body awake and she falls off her bed. Moaning, she scrambles to her feet and picks the phone up as the tune dies.  
"Hello"  
"Hello, gorgeous." It's a male voice that has her mind reeling trying to place him.  
"It's Tyler Lockwood, "he helps her out, "I hear you're back in New York"  
"Good news travels fast" she remembers Tyler Lockwood from their drug fueled appointments where they'd hang for hours talking because he couldn't release on account of snorting too much coke. He used to be fun, uninhibited and creative. He's a trader at Lockwood & Lockwood investment bank and his father has strong political ties at the governor's office.  
"Like wildfire where you're concerned, gorgeous" he says, speaking rapidly into the receiver. "Would you be interested in a date?"  
"With you?" she smiles, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows that cover one wall of her bedroom, "of course, darling"  
"Hmm as enticing as the idea of another date with you sounds, it's not me you'll be meeting"  
"Are you my pimp now?" she chuckles and arches her back, stretching one arm over her head. The stretch feels good, waking up her tired limbs and she really gets into it with a sun salutation.  
"Just call me Santa's little helper" he laughs and Bonnie hears traffic noise coming in behind him. She hears the hoot of a car and the bell of a hot dog stand.  
"A little too early for Christmas, isn't it?" she says, bending forward so that she can touch her hands to her feet. She exhales as she straightens her knees.  
"Then Christmas is early this year"  
"Who's my date?" She leans into an equestrian pose and pushes her right leg back, left knee against her chest as she looks up to the ceiling.  
"It's a surprise"  
"I don't like surprises" she can feel the stretch between her shoulder blades when she slides forward into a cobra pose.  
"Just be at 740 Park Avenue tomorrow night at 8pm" Tyler begs and she imagines his smile, "I promise you'll have a great time"  
Rolling onto her back, she lies flat on the floor and stares at the wrought iron chandelier with dripping wax candles looming above her "Fine, how long is this date?" she sighs knowing she cannot resist a dare.  
"Four hours, I'll wire you your gift just text me your banking details"  
"You got it"  
When she finishes with Tyler, she takes a shower and considers calling Caroline for a lunch date. She ends up going to the Guggenheim for a James Turrell exhibition.  
-oOo-  
The Carlyle is very appropriate for Fleur-de-lis girls, Kai reckons. Its vintage charm and elegance seems to suit Isobel's starlets. He's relished a few of them in the exact same suite. Taking a sip of his gin, he closes his eyes and drifts into a memory involving the Katherine Hepburn lookalike. Isobel has devised a brilliant business model, escorts who look like old Hollywood starlets. The girls are improved with the help of a brilliant surgeon so that Manhattan's elite, lecherous men can delight in them. Kai happens to be one of those men.  
The knock on the door jolts him back to the present and he advances toward the door. When he opens it, he's met with a tiny figure clad in a silver hooded cloak. It's rather dramatic he think as she removes her hood but he reckons other men get off on the performance.  
"Mr. Parker?" she flattens back her blonde hair and smiles up at him.  
"Veronica Lake, I presume?" Kai tilts his head, looking at her through his dark eyelashes. She's pretty with a set of wide set blue eyes and lush red lips but she's no Veronica Lake. She shuffles inside the suite after he beckons her in, her silver sequined gown dazzling under the hooded cloak. After he helps her out of her cloak he offers her a glass of champagne and she expects.  
"You will find the package contains a tip for your…company" he says handing her an envelope. His eyes roam over her side-swept blonde hair, the iconic forties curls swinging around her shoulders.  
"Thank you" she smiles folding it in half.  
"I think I need a refill" he tells her to give her a chance to store away her fee. Kai knows the game by now, he knows how they operate and for some reason they are always weary to store away their payment in full view of the client. When he walks over to her the second time, he is more than ready to proceed with the evening's entertainment.  
"You have lovely skin. I can't wait to ravage it" he tells her, taking her hand and tracing his thumb around her pale wrist. When he has undressed her, he leads her to the bedroom flooded with artificial light. She lay on the bed, her skin silvery against her black underwear. Kai didn't tell her to remove her underwear because there was no need for that. He didn't book her for sex but rather to punish her.  
"No DFK" she protests.  
"What the fuck is DFK?"  
"Deep French kissing" she explains, her voice shaky as she watches the silver handcuffs in his hands.  
"Kissing is that last thing I want to do to you, sweetheart" Kai says, cuffing one of her hands to the bedpost. Slowly he walks around the bed, his eyes admiring his work then ties the remaining hand to the post. Finally he stands at the bottom of the bed, hands crossed against his chest and smiles. He likes how vulnerable she looks, spread-eagle like that. She looks broken, pained and it excites him because maybe then he can steal her light. He walks back to the head over the bed and takes a seat beside her.  
"I want to hurt you; I'm going to hurt you" Kai caresses her hair, his fingers curling around her tendrils. "I bought you and now I own you" he says as she exhales. It's a shaky breath and her blue eyes plead with him.  
"And when I'm done, you will thank me" he leans in so that he can whisper in her ear, "Without pain, pleasure would not exist" he assures her as his finger runs along her quivering jaw. Her eyes widen, her face blanches and her fear strengthens him. Kai smiles as he reaches for his small whip, his taste for her innocent flesh already prickling the skin on his arms.  
-oOo-  
"You holding anything?" Caroline asks as they wait for drinks at Per Se in Columbia circle. She winces when she touches the back of her head and Bonnie narrows her eyes at her. She's known Caroline for two years when she worked for Isobel. She soon discovered how limiting working for an agency was and left Isobel's team soon after. She notices things have changed since she left, for one thing Caroline's nose is sharper and her lips appear plumper. Bonnie has heard the rumors about the starlets and looking at Caroline reckons them to be true.  
"Yeah, I have some coke on me" she says taking a sip of chardonnay, and then quickly follows with, "Are you okay?"  
"Yeah, just a little battered up. It's nothing serious "Caroline shrugs as she picks at her scallion salad.  
"Are you playing in the BDSM scene now?"  
"I need the money"  
"And is it worth that?" Bonnie gestures to the bruise peaking under her collar.  
"The money's good and this, "she pulls up her collar, "this was just a guy who got overzealous"  
"Where was this?"  
"The Carlyle hotel" she takes a pull of her wine and presses her lips together while she looks at a concerned Bonnie.  
"I thought there were rules for this sort of scene"  
"You've never tried it?"  
"I'm more of soft dominant." Bonnie hisses and stabs her beet salad.  
"You've never been a sub?" Caroline's eyes widen and Bonnie shakes her head. She understands why a lot of girls venture away from the vanilla side of things to dabble in some kink but she doesn't think it's for her. She doesn't like playing by the rules and she certainly doesn't like taking orders from a man even if he's paying for her time.  
"Being submissive even for pay is not in my nature" she tells Caroline and hopes to kill the topic.  
"So you'd never consider it?" her friend probes, observing with wonder as Bonnie takes numerous forkfuls of beet before she pauses to respond,  
"Let's just that I'd rather be the one holding the damn whip" she chews, glaring at Caroline.  
-oOo-  
The town car pulls up in front of a towering prewar apartment building with a doorman. Her driver swings around to open the door for her and she marches into the cool interior of a lit lobby. Slipping inside a private elevator, she fixes her coiffed hair and tries to settle her nerves. She realizes that this is the same address where Jackie Kennedy grew up and suddenly feels underdressed in a DVF dress. When the elevator dings, its doors slide open and in front of her stands the governor of New York, Atticus Shane.  
"Carla, I've been expecting you" his smile is wide and it reaches his eyes. Her eyes stay fixed on him, her jaw locked as if she's forgotten all the words in the world. She feels someone advancing to her left and Atticus motions for her to lift her arms and hand over her purse for a search. She's somewhat pleased because she hasn't packed her coke supply tonight. When the bodyguard gives the governor a nod, he steps forward and offers Bonnie his arm.  
"You're gorgeous, Mr. Lockwood certainly wasn't lying about that" he ushers her three rooms down where they find the dining room.  
"Thank you" Bonnie's gaze drifts around the room, taking in the opulent dining table with flickering tables and a pair of plates set for a quiet dinner.  
"After you" he nods her ahead and a waiter pulls her chair for her. She settles her nerves with a glass of red wine, its aromas wafting into her nostrils as the governor talks about his pugs and his last vacation in France. When the last morsel has been wiped off their plates, he takes her by the hand and Bonnie feels the shift of energy in the room.  
Governor Shane trails his finger across her red lace dress, following the swell of her breasts before he snakes his arm around her waist. He buries his face in her hair and murmurs something inaudible before leaning back to say, "You smell really good"  
"You're not so bad yourself" her hand glides up to the side of his neck. He has a subdued elegance about him that charms her enough to know why people voted for him. Finally releasing herself out of the fangirl mode, she plays the part she knows that he needs. He's eager to please, charm the pants off her and tonight she will let him because that's why he's paying for. Most clients never really know what they need until they experience it and it's her job to read them and offer them what they don't even realize they desire.  
She allows Atticus to undress her, to trail kisses across her shoulders but she shies away from a full on kiss on the lips. She wants to tease him and so she pushes him gently away from her and step toward the bed to get more comfortable.  
He watches her, his eyes glistening in the moonlit bedroom. She lets him stand there for a while, watching as she runs her hands down her legs and over her pert breasts. When she thinks he's endured enough, she taps her leg to call him over to her. She smiles as he crawls on all floors, submitting until he kneels between her legs. Looking up at her with pleading eyes, Bonnie removes her red sheer bra and allows him to slide her panties down her legs. He lays his head against the inside of her thigh while his finger draws circles on her left thigh. Forcing his gaze back to her face, he asks  
"Will you sit on my face?"  
Leaning forward, she fists her hand into his hair and tilts his head back so that the governor's looking directly at her "Be a good boy and beg" she orders him. She can tell it's going to be a long night but she's up for the challenge.  
-oOo-  
A/N: The concept of the Fleur-de-lis girls was borrowed from the brilliant movie, L.A Confidential. For those who are eagerly anticipating the meet –cute between Bonnie and Kai, it will happen sooner than you think.


	3. A Study in Duality

Some mornings he can smell New York's decay. The smell rises up like clouds, drifting in between the tops of buildings until the city begins to clear.  
On days like this, New York breaks his routine. He runs shorter miles on his treadmill, stays longer in the shower to relish the massage jets as they pound hot water against his body. He tilts his head back as water sprays knead his aching muscles. His runs his day over in his head, going over the meetings he has planned and ponders if he has the time to fit in another Fleur-de-lis starlet in his schedule.  
When he steps out of the hot shower, white steam hugs him and he drapes a towel around his waist. Taking in a deep breath, he wipes a hand across the foggy mirror and then glares at his reflection. There are days when he swears that someone is inside his body, using his face and wearing his skin. Slowly he lathers his face with shaving cream and gives himself a wet shave. He prefers this method because he finds that the electronic shavers don't cut close enough and he likes a clean shave. Seeing that it's a humid day, he picks cologne that has a crispier bite to it. By the time he steps back into the master bedroom, he feels like himself again. He walks into their walk-in closet and runs his fingers along his line of suits before plucking out a dark Kiton suit. He shrugs into a white Brioni dress-shirt and slips a Zegna tie round his neck. He loops it into a half Windsor knot then runs his hand down the woven silk.  
When he's perfectly done with his routine and as he slips T cylinder cufflinks into his cuffs, he smiles into the mirror. Draping his jacket over his forearm, he descends the curved wood staircase, strolls past the foyer into the dining room.  
"Morning, darling" Rebekah drawls in her perfect form, her veneered teeth twinkling in the early morning sunlight. Kai mumbles a greeting and settles down to a hot cup of espresso and the Wall Street Journal. His eyes run over the spread of warm bagels, scrambled eggs and fruit salads that he has no intention to eat and then back to the bold prints of the stock market page.  
"Don't forget to pick up your tux for daddy's campaign dinner" she says as she uses small shears to cut the stems of her roses at an angle. They're blush-pink, dull like her; he smiles and raises his espresso cup to his lips. She looks subhuman this morning, like a blonde little wind-up doll in her eggshell blue cardigan and Kai feels like a bull in a china shop. He hates their old world apartment with its high ceilings and curvaceous hand-crafted furniture. The place gets too much sunlight and the palette is nothing if not Upper East Side Wasp. Rebekah prides herself on being the perfect example of a wound-up tart, right down to her penchant of flaunting daddy's name and money.  
"My tux?" he asks, casually flipping over her glossy copy of Vanity Fair before tossing it across the table.  
"Oh, Kai" she rolls her blue eyes, casting him a quick glance while she arranges her roses inside a cobalt-blue crystal vase.  
"Daddy's having that dinner for that electoral candidate, Thomas Vincent Fell III" she explains, tossing her curled blond hair over her shoulder. He would love nothing more than to stab her with her pretty little shears until she bleeds out on her pretty little lacquer finish dining table. He takes another sip of his espresso, looking beyond her at their view of Central Park. The voices in his head talk over her insistent noise and Kai is grateful because they drown her out.  
"New York will outlive us all" he says, savoring the potency of his espresso.  
-oOo-  
Bonnie pokes the yolk of a poached egg with her fork, her eyes scanning the crowds clamoring for tables outside on the sunny terrace. It's a Saturday and as such most places in Manhattan are crowded to the hilt. Emily drizzles truffle oil over her scramble eggs and the golden lard drips into her brioche toast.  
"Did you hear what I just said?" Em repeats, lifting her mimosa to her glossy coral lips. Her lipstick is a fun color, modern too but a tad misleading. Some would consider it false advertising because Emily hasn't been entertaining since…well, never.  
"Yes, I heard you" Bonnie tells her sister then dabs her mouth with a monogrammed napkin. She kicks off her Helmut Lang stilettos so that she can feel the cold natural stone floor under her bare feet. It makes her feel like a child again, four years old and running around her mother's greenhouse. Four years old, the year her mother died.  
"I'm getting married, Bon!" Emily repeats and Bonnie sighs because she heard her sister the first time.  
"Congratulations" she mumbles then guzzles down her glass of champagne because she can't be bothered to fake drink a bland mimosa.  
"I wish you the same happiness that I feel right now, I really do, Bon" Emily's cheeks flush a deep red as she makes a grab for Bonnie's hand.  
-oOo-  
That evening she meets Tyler at his apartment for a sinful evening that has her feeling like she never really left Manhattan. He feeds her strawberries while she sits inside a bubble bath, trailing his fingers down her chest between his hectic inhales of cocaine. He takes the time to show her how much he's upgraded when he offers her an ecstasy amidst a steamy kiss. When she's all cleaned up, Tyler lifts her up against the wall and hikes her towel up over her thighs. She wraps one leg around his hips, fingers tangled into his hair as they kiss. Her nipples awaken to his kiss while he whispers sweet nothings in her ear. It's not so much a matter of having missed him because she refuses to feel anything for a client but she missed the familiarity with him. Straddling him, she pins his hands against the bed while he licks her breasts, tugging her nipples with his teeth. It's the familiarity she tells herself as she tightens her thighs around Tyler's hips.  
She's missed home.  
Her ringing cellphone startles both of them but Tyler remains still, one arm thrown over his face as he lies on his back. Bonnie rises from her crouched position, wipes the coke from her nose and marches over to pick up her mobile. She scans the screen and recognizes the number.  
"Hey, you" she sighs, arching her back.  
"Hi. I was wondering if I can see you tonight." Elijah sounds shy and uncomfortable and this makes her smile.  
"I'll uh…have to check my diary but…" she bites her bottom lip, raking a hand through her tousled hair.  
"It's for a party" he explains and she can feel Tyler rising from the rumpled bed.  
"What kind of party?" she laughs throatily while Tyler presses himself against her back. He hums, kissing her neck as his hands massage her breasts, pulling her nipples.  
"Not that kind of party" Elijah chuckles and clears his throat, "It's a business thing. My father is having political dinner and I need a date"  
"Hmm, short notice" she moans for Tyler but doesn't really mind when Elijah thinks it's for him.  
"I'll make it up to you" he says and she knows that he's talking in monetary terms.  
"I'll be there, just send me the details" she tells him and as she hangs up on Elijah, Tyler chuckles into her hair before his lips slide over her mouth.  
-oOo-  
That evening Kai finds himself at 740 Park Avenue for Mikael Mikaelson's political swarray. He excuses himself to Rebekah then weaves his way to the open bar. The place is speckled with blue and red balloons drifting over the crowd's heads but its classy glamour overall, Kai thinks as he knocks back bourbon. After a few speeches and even more shoulder surfing, he signals a server for a drink and proceeds to the restroom. Without a second thought, he flings the door open, slamming it against the wall but stops short when he realizes that he has interrupted someone. She gasps as she backs into the exposed brick back wall sprinkled with black and white photographs. She has her arms up in front of her, holding a rolled up hundred dollar bill.  
For a moment they're both silent, alarmed as they stare at each other.  
Kai's grey eyes travel down her slinky beaded gown, lingering on the slit running down her chest. He pauses there for a while, relishing her honeyed brown skin and the peekaboo her breasts are playing with his growing lust before his gaze ventures down to the counter top. He counts three lines of coke, the fourth having left a remnant on her nose. She wipes it off with her thumb, the corners of her lips edging up into a faint smile.  
"Did I startle you?" he asks, inching closer to her.  
"You should learn to knock" she replies with a husky chuckle.  
"And you should learn to lock the door" he smiles and signals to her cocaine. His eyes dart between her and the coke, waiting for her to say something to possibly cover the awkwardness that she must obviously feel.  
"Would you like to sample?" she asks instead and elevates a trimmed eyebrow. Slowly, he pulls out a sterling silver cigarette case from his jacket pocket and opens it for her.  
"I have my own supply" he says as her eyes settle on the small bag of coke nestled between his cigarettes.  
"Very stylish" her eyes swing back up to his and he notices their green color.  
"Is it?" he laughs, not willing to tear his eyes away from her.  
"Very" she insists, albeit nonchalantly as if she doesn't really want to exchange pleasantries with him.  
"Guess I'm a very stylish boy" Kai says, unnerved by her blatant disregard of him, "Do I know you?" he asks, his eyes fixed on her amused smile.  
"I'm sure you'd remember me" she replies and he catches a glimpse of the side of her left breast as she leans over the basin to inspect her face. She inhales her three remaining lines, slants her head back to grin at him then washes her hands. His eyes trail down to her buttocks where he imagines putting her over his lap and spanking her. He imagines that he would use a riding crop because it would have the right amount of quiver and leave the right amount of color on her inflamed flesh. He wonders if she's a screamer or a moaner. He prefers screamers for very obvious reasons.  
"You're right. Perhaps it's Dejavu" he finally says as he swipes a tongue over his lips. She rises back up, takes a hand towel and wipes her hands. When her eyes lift back to meet his, Kai feels a shiver down his spine and a flaring heat in his gut. She advances toward him, her perfume invading his nostrils but when her fingers dance over the buttons of his tuxedo shirt, he's marginally intrigued.  
"Dejavu is the mind's way of letting you know that you're in the right place at the right time" she tells him, her magnificent green eyes dropping to his lips.  
"You missed a spot" he traces his thumb down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. She leans in closer, her gaze drifting back to his eyes and she smiles a smug smile that leaves him even more intrigued.  
"Thank you" she breaths, her breasts pressing against his chest as she reaches for the door handle behind him.  
"I didn't catch your name" Kai says, the pulse along his jawline quickening as his mind whirls with fantasies involving her.  
She leans even closer, her voice caressing his skin as she whispers into his ear, "I didn't give it to you" she smiles and Kai hears the door click open.  
"See you out there" he smiles, a wisp of her brown hair brushing his cheek as she walks past him.


End file.
